I miss your scent.
Sandalwood and citrus with a whiff of cinnamon for warmth.
I miss watching you fall asleep.
Chin tucked in your chest. A book that lost the grip of your hands lies lonely on the floor.
I miss the golly good laughs of morning breaths.
We really should start brushing our teeth before going to bed. Really, we should.
I miss the sweater your mother made you.
Of camels and palm trees so intricately woven.
I miss how you love tragedies.
Of lovers that can’t stand a chance in loving.
I must be dreaming.
Plafon I, 24 Juni 2009